Page 10 of Real Good Love
“Even though Myrna just handed me the opportunity to stay in New York and go back to the life I had, I don’t want that life. Before, I thought New York had everything, but now I know it doesn’t have the one thing I really want. You.”
My heart hammers at my declaration. This is as close as I’ve gotten to admitting that I’m kinda crazy in love with Logan, and even though I’ve promised myself I wasn’t going to say it first, I need him to know this.
When all I get is silence, panic creeps in. “You can say something now. Really, anytime.”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me the rest,” Logan says, his tone less harsh than before, but there’s something in it I can’t identify.
“The rest of what?”
Logan takes a breath before he speaks. “That you’re pregnant.”
I spin around and slam my shin into the bed frame. “Shit!” I yell, jumping back on one foot and losing my grip on my phone. It lands perfectly on the corner before sliding across the floor. I dive after it, snagging it just before it hits the dresser.
But I’m too late. The screen is shattered.
“Fuck!”
I sit up, wrap one hand on my screaming shinbone, and stare down at my poor phone. Behind the shattered glass, the screen is black. The call is dropped. I hit the power button and wait for it to come back on, but nothing happens.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I say to the empty room. “There is no way my luck is this bad.”
But two minutes of pressing buttons with absolutely no sign of life from my phone tells me otherwise.
I reach for the hotel phone and then replace it in the cradle. I don’t know Logan’s number. I don’t know anyone’s freaking number anymore.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Laptop. Google.I’ll find the number for his shop.
I tap my nails on the desk as I wait for my laptop to boot up, and by the time I connect to the hotel Wi-Fi and pull up my browser, I’m ready to tear my hair out. Patience has never been one of my virtues, and that’s not changing today.
Thankfully, Google provides the number to his shop, and I call it.
No answer, and the voice mail is full, so I can’t even leave a message.
“Logan, you need to check your goddamned voice mails!”
I call again. And again. And again.
Finally, someone picks up. “Hello?”
I can barely hear him over the sound of country music. “Why in the hell do you think I’m pregnant?”
“Who is this?” the man asks, and I realize it’s not Logan.
“I need to talk to your boss. Now.”
“Logan?”
“Yes!”
“Hold on. He’s busy.”
“He’s definitely not too busy for this call, so you just march over there and hand him the phone.”
“Calm down, lady. I’m working on it.”
I barely restrain myself from ripping into the guy for being rude, but I’ve got more important matters to deal with. The music in the background goes silent finally, and I can hear the man say, “There’s someone on the phone for you, boss, and she sounds pissed. You knock someone up?”
